Tea Bags and Soliloquies
by Aelan Greenleaf
Summary: Five women reminisce and reflect about the ones they love by themselves over tea. A five chapter series of vignettes. Multiple pairings. Chapter Five up 9.6!
1. Early Morning Thoughts

Title: Tea Bags and Soliloquies

Author: Aelan Greenleaf

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama

Rating: K+

Timeframe: All over the place, from Harry's birth to HBP. Not in chronological order.

Summary: Five women reminisce and reflect about the ones they love by themselves over tea. (A five chapter series of vignettes)

Characters: Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Nymphadora Tonks, Molly Weasley and Lily Potter

Disclaimer: I own none of this. I'm just playing with them for a while.

A/N: This is a five part story, comprised of five stand-alone vignettes connected only by the fact that each of the stories involves a woman from the HP universe and tea. I hope you enjoy them.

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Part One: Early Morning Thoughts

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Ginny Weasley yawned as she sat down at the dining table, brushing back her autumn hair out of her eyes. She barely registered her mother as she bustled into the room, and only listened half-heartedly as the family matriarch prattled on about something for the wedding, and that there was something that she was leaving for Ginny to do, and could she _please have it done by the time she returned_?

"Right-o, mum." she muttered, waving a hand up in acknowledgement. Her eyelids drooped dangerously low again, impairing her vision.

"Thank you, dear." said her mother, as she grabbed her handbag, kissed her daughter on the cheek quickly, and disappeared through the door. A faint 'pop' followed, and Ginny was alone. It took her another few moments to fully wake up, and by then she regretted not hearing what her mother had wanted her to do. No matter, she'd figure it out eventually.

She rose up from her seat, grabbed the jumper she had brought down with her, and pulled it on, finding it cold even in the summer morning. Noticing that her mother had left the kettle out, she got a glass out of a nearby cabinet and helped herself to some of the tea that was still steeping on the stove. Taking the mug in both of her hands, she ventured outside and sat down on the old swinging chair, drinking her tea in the cool morning air.

The wedding, she thought to herself. Everyone was so excited about it; even her mother and Fleur were truly bonding over it, picking the flowers for the ceremony, and the dresses, and if it would be possible for Celestina Warbeck to perform at the reception (this, of course, was heartily rejected by Fleur herself).

However, even thought Ginny was truly happy for her brother and his fiancé, and even though she was trying her hardest to be happy, her best attempts just kept falling through. Part of it, she knew was jealousy; her brother got to be with the one he loved, and yet, Ginny could not, but that wasn't all of it. She was worried.

She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, most strongly at night when she lay alone in her bed and the world was quiet around her. The feeling of pure, unadulterated anxiety and fear was building within her as the days passed. And this feeling was centred around her brother, her best friend and the boy that she dreamed about.

Ginny sighed and took a sip of her tea, savouring the warm liquid as it traversed her throat and warmed her from the inside out. She knew why, of course, they had to do what they had to do, but that didn't stop her from worrying and agonizing about it. There was a part of her that didn't want them to go. Didn't want _him_ to go.

What she felt for Harry was confusing and strange. She was biased, she knew; she had had a crush on him from the first day she had met him at the King's Cross Station. And yet, she realized that there was something there, something she had for him that she had never had for Dean or Michael. Ginny was hesitant to call it love, but in reality, that was all that she _could_ call it.

She raised the cup again and swallowed some more tea. The morning was warming around her, as the birds started to chirp and from far away, a church bell rang. But all of this was ignored by her, as she continued to be lost in her own thoughts.

After the wedding was done, they would be gone. Gone to fight an enemy that was almost immortal. And Ginny would be left behind, mourning the end of a relationship that almost never was. She was stuck on the sidelines, cheering for the home team but never allowed to join in.

What if they got hurt out there? What if they never came back?

What if they died out there?

A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and she brushed it away angrily. In doing so, the cup contained the last dregs of her tea tumbled to the ground, and shattered on the stone walkway at her feet. She froze, for a moment, inexplicably mesmerized by the shards of broken china below.

The sound of a hoot came through the silence, she finally looked away to see Pig flying at her from above, swaying side to side in the air as he bore a letter to her. He landed on her shoulder, pecking her finger affectionately, before flying off to find something to eat.

Ginny looked down at the letter in her hands, and gazed down at the scrawled writing on the parchment. _To Ginny, from Harry_, it said, in a half-faded black ink. She looked away.

"_Reparo_!" she whispered, as the mug reassembled on the ground. Picking it up, she stood, letter in her other hand, and re-entered her house. Love could be pondered upon later. Right now, she had a letter to read and a mysterious chore to do.


	2. Fighting a Losing Battle

Part Two: Fighting a Losing Battle

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Hermione Granger swept into the room quickly, the ends of her robes barely making it inside before she closed the door behind herself. Putting her ear to the door, she could hear a high-pitched giggle and a laughing tenor as they walked past her door, oblivious of their proximity to her. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. She did _not_ want to see Ron and Lavender at this particular juncture.

A long moment passed, and then it occurred to her to see exactly where she had escaped to. Opening her eyes, she saw the familiar landscape of Professor Flitwick's Charms classroom. Luckily, the professor himself seemed to have retired to his office, and Hermione was by herself.

She supposed that she should leave the classroom and go somewhere else, but in reality, she did not want to see anyone else. At all. Even Ginny or Harry couldn't rouse her from decidedly dejected and downtrodden mood.

She crossed over to the far side of the chamber, opened one of the many cabinets and removed a cushion from inside. Placing it upon the floor, she sat down and leaned back against the wall, quiet and alone.

What exactly was she doing here, she could not answer. And why the sight of Lavender and Ron had infuriated her so was beyond her. He deserved her. Annoying, giggly, devoted to that stupid subject of Divination- yeah, Ron could have her. Good. Great.

Oh, who was she kidding. It wasn't great at all. She hated them together. She hated every meal they ate together, every corridor they strolled in together, and every night they spent locked at the lips together. She hated the way Lavender always laughed at his stupid jokes, she hated the way he always smiled when she entered the room and she hated the looks everyone would give her when she walked by them together.

So every time they walked by, every time they shared a laugh, every time they were wrapped around each other, she just looked away. Pretending that she didn't see what was really there. Feigning indifference and acting nonchalant, even though she knew that she really wasn't fooling anyone and it wasn't doing much of anything for her at all.

Hermione folded her knees up to her chest, as the room started to grow cold around her. Summoning an empty cup from a nearby table, she muttered softly and it filled will a honey-brown liquid that steamed lightly in the cool chamber. She sipped it quietly as she considered what kind of a situation she was in.

What she had done to offend him she didn't know. Harry knew, of course, but he seemed so reluctant to tell her that she hadn't pressed the matter. Even through her anger at them, she wanted to keep Harry close; however, she knew she wasn't doing a very good job of it at all. She was pushing him away, just like she was pushing Ginny away, and for what? A silly boy who seemed to only have eyes for that irritating Lavender.

A silly boy who, she admitted, had captured her heart.

Tears started to fall into her tea, sliding down her cheeks and plunging downwards. Her hands trembled as she started to sob, and as her sadness turned into anger she threw the cup away, shattering it onto the stone floor below. Her chest heaved as she cried and all she could think about was how horrible her life was going, and that nothing would ever be right again.

Body shaking with unrestrained emotion, she leaned back against the cabinet doors and closed her weeping eyes. Self-pity was not a usual attribute of her character, but today was an exception. Ron's smiling face flashed in her mind, bright red hair shining and his eyes laughing. And she knew that she loved him, as much as one can love someone that doesn't reciprocate your feelings, and she knew that the pain she felt inside all came back to him, entirely and ultimately. Every argument with Ginny, every half-heartedly done assignment, every night spent in fitful dreams all started with him.

The force of her emotions startled her, and she opened her eyes, disorientated. Her mind stopped racing, her heart stopped beating against her chest, and she wiped away the tears that rested under her eyes. She let her emotions overtake her, as they swirled through her head and her body and she let them all go, all of her frustration and anger and sadness and unrequited love. She took a deep, heaving breath, and it was all gone, into the night air.

Hermione sat a moment, calming her mind and composing her features. She ran a hand under her eyes one final time, erasing any evidence of what had just happened, save for the red colour of her eyes that reflected in the pale moonlight. Somewhere outside a wolf howled, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Getting up, she put the pillow back where it belonged, took out her wand and repaired the broken teacup, vanishing the spilt tea from the floor. Straightening her robes, she brushed her hair back, took a deep breath, and headed for the door. After all, her homework needed to be done. And almost nothing could keep her from that.

She pushed all thoughts of Ron (and Lavender) far, far into the depths of what Harry said was her immensely expansive mind, and tried to think of nothing. However, she knew that she was fighting a losing battle, and that, in time, this would all happen again.


	3. Something That Was but Never Would Be

Hey all! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone reading and reviewing! The next chapter will be up on Tuesday as I will be away from home for the weekend! Thanks again!

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Part Three: Something That Was but Never Would Be

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Nymphadora Tonks clutched the teacup as if it was the last and only thing keeping her alive. Her hands were red on white as she held the hot beverage close, not even feeling the heat as it burned her hands and fingers. Her grey eyes were concentrated far and away, on something that wasn't really there.

She had sat here, in the exactly same place and in exactly the same manner only five days ago, but it seemed a lifetime ago. Then, then she had been worried, worried beyond belief. Her head had been spinning with questions and anxiety and varying possible scenarios that might come to pass. She had been panicked, nervous, at her wit's end.

But at least then, she had been happy.

Now... now her world had fallen down around her, and there was no way out. Sirius was gone. Gone. Gone into the black veil of death, falling forever out of sight but never out of mind. She shivered involuntarily, as she thought of her cousin. Her eyelids quivered, but God knows no tears would come. There were no more left. All had been shed during the past several days.

Nymphadora removed her hands from the sides of the scalding teacup, and stared at the red surface of them. Red, red like blood. Blood that had been shed the night Sirius died. She closed her eyes in pain. That night had left her with more scars than anyone knew.

They were fighting, and Harry was there, and the others, and Sirius and Remus and there were spells flying through the air at random. A crash sounded from somewhere, and she turned, only for a moment, for a second, but it was too late, and someone cackled as the spell hit her abdomen and threw her sprawling through the air. Only a moment, and her world shattered.

She hadn't been that hurt; at least, she hadn't thought she was that hurt. She shook it off, and stood back up, even through her midsection was screaming at her to sit down, to lay down, to maybe fall asleep and never wake up. She recovered in time to see her friend killed at the hands of his cousin and her aunt. The scream died in her throat as she watched him fall.

The next day, Molly had insisted on taking her to St. Mungo's, as the pain had never left, and she prayed that it was not what she thought it was. When the Healer had come out and told her worst fear, it was as if Sirius had died again, and the world was falling, falling forever.

Molly had taken her home, not knowing what had happened, but knowing enough that Nymphadora was in no state to return by herself. The older woman had soothed her to sleep, had taken care of her in the younger woman's darkest hour. And when Nymphadora had awoken the next day, her hair was a greyish-brown and her eyes had turned to the colour of dust.

The tea was cooler now, but still, she didn't drink from it. It just sat there, forgotten, while the young woman got lost into her own thoughts. What was she going to tell Remus?

A possibility occurred: _Oh, hello Remus. So, you were going to be a father. Yeah, you know, but don't worry about it, I lost the baby so it's all okay now._

The callousness of the thought surprised even herself, and her chest compressed with a restrained sob. Her baby. Their baby. A baby that was but would never be. Remembered only by one woman, who only knew her child for three short days.

Of course, it had been longer than three days. But Nymphadora had only learnt of her condition two days before that fateful night at the Ministry. Two days of worrying, of wondering, of excitement and of trepidation, of careful dreams and wistful fantasy. She had thought of a family, a home, a life beyond the war. She had thought of first steps and first words and walks in the park. She had thought of someone to come home to, someone to play with, someone to love completely and unconditionally. She had dreamt of someone to care for.

It only took a single mutter, a single incantation to destroy those dreams.

She pushed the tea away, and stood up on shaky legs. Touching her abdomen gingerly, as if something was still there, something that just needed love and care to come back. But nothing, nothing could bring her baby back.

Crossing the kitchen and entering her parlour, she collapsed onto a sofa and lay back, looking up blankly at the room. She still didn't know what to tell Remus. What was she supposed to say? A month ago, he had told her that they couldn't stay together; that he was too dangerous and too old and too poor. That he was a werewolf, and that he could never be with her. They had argued into the night, and she had left, upset and in tears.

Just days before, she was going to go to him, going to tell him exactly what was going on and that, if need be, she could do it on her own. But she knew that Remus would never abandon her or his child, and that he would be there.

And now... now, she didn't think she would tell him anything at all. He didn't need more troubles, he didn't need more pain. No, she would keep this to herself, the only memory of someone who perhaps never was. She loved Remus Lupin, more than she should, and she wasn't going to manipulate him with this. Nymphadora knew that he still loved her, but that it was his insufferable devotion to the Order and to saving the world that kept them apart. She respected that, and she wasn't about to make it worse.

Her eyes were tired, so tired. Her body felt bruised and broken all over, and exhaustion seemed to run like a liquid through her veins. Succumbing to the pull of sleep, Nymphadora Tonks closed her eyes in sweet agony and fell into a deep slumber, where nightmares of forgotten children and lost loves taunted her through the night. Someone whispered from nowhere: _To sleep, perchance to dream…_


	4. Waiting For The Morning

**Hey all! Thanks again for all the reviews, and sorry for not updating. My computer crashed, but here it is!****

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Part Four: Waiting For The Morning

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Molly Weasley sat at her own kitchen table, knitting away at yet another jumper for her family. She was doing them by herself this time; no magic at all. Her hands moved quickly and smoothly, manipulating the fabric into the shape of a jumper as time passed by. Every few moments, her eyes would look back up to the clock on her kitchen wall, the clock that did not tell time. And every time she looked, nothing had changed, and she would go back to her knitting.

How late it was at night, she didn't know. Late enough that the crickets had long stopped their calls, and late enough that she could feel the exhaustion pumping through her veins. Her eyes were red with weariness, and yet, she continued to weave, sitting at the table. She knew that if she stopped, she would collapse in tears and would not be able to recover.

They had all gone. Even her baby daughter, who was no longer a baby but almost eighteen. Gone to fight that horrible, never-ending war. Her husband, her four sons and her one daughter. Leaving her behind in the home that they had all once shared, a home that had once been filled with laughter and children and jokes and happiness. A home filled with love.

Now, the Burrow was what? It was no longer home, she knew- there was no home without her family. A house, and a rickety old one at that, standing alone in the countryside. No more laughter, no more mirth and smiles; only tears and pain.

There was a creak upon the floorboards above her, and she knew that her son was awake. She looked up, as if she could see up two floors and into the room that her son was occupying. She waited a moment and forever, but no call came down the stairs beckoning her up to him. Another creak followed the first, and she knew that he had returned to bed. Always sleeping. Her heart ached for her little boy.

The clock continued to tick, though it still did not measure any form of time. She returned to her almost completed jumper, as she wove it together and finally finished it, adding it to the pile that waited on the table, as if hoping that someone would come home to wear them. Molly couldn't help but think the same.

A kettle whistled on the stove, and she got up, leaving her handiwork behind. She selected a teabag from her canister, choosing one from a package that Ron had given her years ago, pride beaming in his eyes as he handed her a sloppily wrapped gift from underneath the Christmas tree. Dropping it into the teapot, the mulberry scent permeated throughout the room and she poured some of the purple liquid into her waiting mug.

Molly brought it back to the table, feeling numb. Numb all over. There was no other way to describe the feeling that had overcome her, right then, just now. She couldn't feel her fingers, her feet were rocks beneath her, and all of her emotions just faded away. She drank some of the tea, and the clock ticked on.

First, she thought of Arthur. Her dear, sweet Arthur. She remembered their first meeting, on the train to Hogwarts: he in his tattered black robes, she in her silk ones. His smiling eyes and the way he pushed his glasses up onto his nose was so endearing and cute. Dancing in the rain in their sixth year; sneaking out in their seventh. She thought of their wedding and their honeymoon and the day their first son was born. Molly loved her husband more than words could describe.

And then there were the children, which were right behind him in her heart. Charlie, fierce and loyal, brave and cunning. Bill, rebellious but kind-hearted. Ron, quiet, but a hero in his own way. The twins, intelligent and mischievous; Ginny, her beautiful red-haired daughter. And her lost one, the one was gone forever. A tear dropped from above and rippled in the liquid below.

Percy. Her brilliant, rule-abiding boy. Prefect, Head Boy, aide to the Minister, Junior Assistant and finally, Deputy Minister of Magic. Her silly, stubborn son. Gone forever, killed by the forces of evil, lost in the fight against all that was wrong and bad in the world.

And then there was Harry and Hermione, the two young people that were to her like her own children; that were out there fighting with all they had for the wizarding world. There was the clumsy but lovely Nymphadora, and the serious, devoted Remus. Everyone that she loved was out there, fighting without her, save for one person.

Bill was upstairs, sleeping the nights and days away, as always. He rarely left the house anymore; leaving only when forced by his mother to go to St. Mungo's for his appointments. His long hair had been chopped off, and he was thin, so thin. Molly cried a bit every night for her heart-broken son. Bill had been like this since Fleur and their infant daughter had been killed by Death Eaters several months ago, and she could see that it had left him numb, dead inside. Molly's eyes burned with hot tears. She drank some more tea.

Her family was being torn apart, ripped to pieces, and there was nothing she could do about it. But if she could… if she could, she'd bring Fleur and Aimee back to life; she would rescue Nymphadora from the confines of her mental prison; she would bring Harry and Ginny back together; she would save her third-born son. But, quite frankly, there was no bit of magic, light or dark, that could help her.

Molly drained the last bit of her tea, and suddenly, the hands of the clock began to spin. Her eyes widened in awe and excitement, and she rose to her legs so quickly that the chair fell over behind her. She turned to the door, and started to sob as one by one, battered and exhausted, her husband, her four darling children and her two surrogate offspring entered. Running forwards in utter happiness, Molly Weasley collapsed in tears into her Arthur's waiting arms. She couldn't change the past, but she could help with the future. Until the war was over, she would be forever waiting for the morning to come.


	5. Normality is Relative

**I just wanted to thank everyone for reading, and to tell you all that I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it too. I am considering writing anotherone of the same nature but with the men of the HP universe; however, school is back and this fic would be long in the waiting. We'll see! Thanks again!**

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Part Five: Normality is Relative

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Lily Potter placed the teacups into the hot water, savouring the warm sensation that made her fingers tingle with sudden heart. Gently, and by hand, she scrubbed the white china, washing away any trace of the light brown liquid that it had contained mere moments ago. She dried them off, dumped the rest of the now tepid tea into the drain, and rounded up the plates that remained on the table, the last remnants of their evening meal.

James had left a few moments ago, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he placed a hand onto his infant son's sleeping head, before sweeping through the door, Sirius and Remus not far behind. The trio had departed to the final of the Quidditch World Cup, lugging their tent and equipment behind them. She had laughed at the sight, watching as the lanky Remus tried to balance two bags and a tent as Sirius and James rounded up some last minute supplies. She had fed them dinner and then they were off through the door, getting ready for the next evening where they would watch England play Romania for the Cup.

Lily smiled in reminiscence and happiness before she returned to her cleaning, her pearl white hands scrubbing and rinsing and drying. She carefully placed all of the dishes and china back where they belonged, into the small cupboards of their modestly sized home. Sighing, she collected her book from where it lay on the table and went into the next room, sitting down onto the plaid but comfortable couch and leaning into the soft material.

She fully intended to open the pages of her book and read the latest exploits of the female heroine, but something was causing disquiet in her mind. It had been dancing on the edges of her consciousness for days, but she couldn't find the source of the nagging feeling that was irritating her thoughts.

It had started with the message from Dumbledore, she realized, dropping the book onto the floor beside her. Yes, that was it. The message. Cryptic, confusing, but revealing and unnerving all the same.

Be ready. The prophecy draws near.

Her heart thumped as she thought of it, and she looked back in the direction of her son's room to reassure herself that he was still there. The chance that her son, her child, her baby boy could be taken away, could be captured, could be killed was heartbreaking, and despite herself, she could feel the cool sensation of a tear glide down her cheek. She didn't brush it away; too preoccupied to do so as her mind raced with thought of death and destruction and an infant child named Harry James Potter.

The day she had first held him in her arms was still fresh in her mind, at the forefront of her thoughts as she leaned even farther back into the soft plaid couch. She had been tired, so bloody tired, but when the nurse had turned to her and shown her a bright red face contained with a harsh yellow sheet, all her pain and exhaustion seemed to slip away, and she had been filled with such emotion that her heart threatened to burst. James was grinning ear to ear beside her, his unruly hair falling over his glasses as he leaned over her and touched the tiny being in his wife's arms.

The tear on her cheek was joined by another, and another, and another. She didn't want her son to be taken away from her, she didn't want He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to come, she didn't want him to die and all she wanted was for this stupid, Godforsaken war to just bloody end! Her shoulders started to shake with a confused mixture of anger and worry and sorrow, with tears of all three kinds plunging from red-rimmed green eyes onto the shag carpeting below. For countless moments she sat there, just crying and thinking, laying back against her old sofa and releasing all of her pent-up emotions. Lily Potter just let go.

She could have gone on for a lifetime if a wailing cry hadn't pierced the still silence around her. Hastily, she wiped all of her silly tears away and quickly moved out through the hall and into her son's room. She moved over to the crib, looked down, and met a pair of very familiar eyes.

Mother and son just stared at each other, both of their worries forgotten, as the silence came back in around them. Two sets of identical eyes locked in together, and it was a long moment before Lily broke her stare and reached down into the crib to pick up her very astute son.

He nestled his soft face into the crook of her arm, and she was back in the hospital room again, when the nurse reached out and placed him into her arms, arms that seemed to have only one singular purpose; arms that had waited a lifetime to complete their task.

She looked down to him, and memorized his appearance, as that gnawing feeling returned and a strange, nameless fear rose up her spine. Her eyes caught the scruff of black hair; the clear and perfect complexion of his soft pale face; the tiny fingers and toes that were all the right numbers. She watched for a minute or an hour, and then finally Lily turned to the door, satisfied, and carried her infant son from the room, perhaps to catch the last twenty minutes of yesterday's semi-final Quidditch game. Tomorrow could wait, time could wait, the prophecy could wait. For now, she was just Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter, and they were just another normal family without a care in the world.


End file.
